


in a rush

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Realization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre is barely managing to deal with the feelings he has for Courfeyrac when he has a sudden realisation; Courfeyrac is hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in a rush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SAMH0UND](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SAMH0UND/gifts).



The thing about Combeferre's friends is that no matter where they are, they'll immediately claim the place as theirs and make themselves comfortable. It's how they'd turned the Musain from a place that they sometimes went for social justice meetings to their regular hangout, where the staff all know them by name and order, and don't even bat an eyelid when they go upstairs and claim the reserved room. Since discovering that Cosette and her father live in a mansion, the group has similarly claimed it as the venue for all of their big parties.

There aren't very many of them, but they manage to fill the house up anyway. The entire place is covered in decorations and there are tables _everywhere_ with snacks. Combeferre should be enjoying the party, but he's following Cosette around instead as she sets up more tables with snacks and drinks.

"Are you sure you don't want help?" he asks, for the third time in fifteen minutes. "I mean, it's kind enough of you to let us hold the party here, you don't need to do everything else too."

"It's fine, this is _your_ birthday party. I'm not making you do anything."

Combeferre smiles ruefully, knowing that if he isn't keeping himself busy, he's going to be hovering in the foyer waiting for the rest of his friends to arrive.

Of course, by _the rest_ , he means Courfeyrac, because everyone else is here. _Courfeyrac_ is late to a party, which never happens. He's usually the first person at any party, anywhere, and Combeferre has no idea what this means.

"Combeferre?" Enjolras walks over, before Combeferre can wander towards the foyer again. "You look stressed. You shouldn't be stressed at your own party. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Combeferre replies. He's usually a good liar when he needs to be, but he falters this time and Enjolras frowns at him.

"No, really. Talk to me."

Combeferre doesn't even know where to begin. He doesn't know how much to admit to Enjolras because he's still unsure of how much he's admitting to himself. His feelings for Courfeyrac are confusing at the best of times. Enjolras is, without doubt, his best and oldest friend, but Courfeyrac is a very close second. Combeferre doesn't know when he started thinking of Courfeyrac as anything other than platonic, but the more he dwells on it, the more difficult it is to ignore and despite his best attempts, it has become near-impossible to push the thought out of his mind.

"Combeferre?" Enjolras prompts, looking concerned.

"Hey, Combeferre!" Grantaire calls, walking across the room. He has his phone in his hand and a grin that makes Combeferre worry.

He's clearly not the only one, judging by the way Enjolras raises an eyebrow at him.

"Courfeyrac just messaged me—he's on his way here now. Shouldn't be long."

"And why is he messaging _you_?" Enjolras asks suspiciously and Combeferre wonders if there's a hint of jealousy there. Confusing as his feelings for Courfeyrac may be, at least he can see what's going on between Enjolras and Grantaire, even if they're both a little oblivious. 

"Probably because he assumes the two of you are having _fun_ at the party, instead of standing around and frowning the way you are," Grantaire replies. Smirking, he adds, "Why, are you jealous?"

"That Courfeyrac needs to decipher your typo-riddled messages?" Enjolras scoffs. "Of course not."

Combeferre opens his mouth to point out that while Grantaire may have no regard for grammar, there are never any typos. He stops when he remembers the few messages Grantaire had sent him when blind drunk, and shuts his mouth again. Grantaire notices, looking away, his ears turning pink. 

"Anyway," he mutters, "Courf's just running a bit late because he's picking up more drinks."

"That explains why he was messaging _you_ then," Enjolras says, and Combeferre thinks that he hears relief in his best friend's voice, but it only makes Grantaire's expression darken.

"What?" Enjolras asks, noticing Combeferre's frown when Grantaire walks away. He sounds defensive; he's probably aware of the unintended effect of his words, even if he doesn't know why. 

"It's just you and Grantaire…" Combeferre begins, but he's interrupted by a loud shout.

" _I HAVE ARRIVED_! What have I missed?" It's Courfeyrac, walking in with a large case of beer. "Where's 'Ferre? Happy birthday! Sorry I'm late."

"It's not even my actual birthday," Combeferre replies with a smile. That had been two days ago, and Courfeyrac had called him at midnight, to be the first one to wish him a happy birthday, and had repeated it another five times throughout the day. "I'm glad you made it."

"This way," Grantaire says, leading Courfeyrac to a table that must have been kept empty for this exact reason. "Alright, now this party can _really_ get started! And Combeferre—happy birthday."

Combeferre looks over to Courfeyrac when he puts the case down, and his mouth goes dry. Courfeyrac is wearing one of his usual button-up shirts, complete with a bowtie and it shouldn't be any different to all the other times that he's seen Courfeyrac in similar outfits, except this time the shirt is _tight_ on him and that makes all the difference in the world. It clings to Courfeyrac's biceps, and Combeferre doesn't think he's even noticed them before. The shirt is pulled tight across his chest too and Combeferre has to tear his gaze away before he's caught staring. He thinks he sees Grantaire glancing in his direction anyway but he doesn't pay any attention to it, walking over to one of the other tables and pouring himself a glass of the fruity wine Jehan had brought with him. 

He tries to ignore it throughout the night and act normal. He makes conversation with everyone and thoroughly beats all of them at Mario Kart, laughing as he blue-shells Courfeyrac on his way to victory. When Courfeyrac elbows him, he elbows Courfeyrac right back and when it devolves into a play-fight, Combeferre can ignore how ridiculously attractive Courfeyrac is tonight. Right up until the point when Courfeyrac leans into his side and Combeferre's hand settles on his chest.

Combeferre gets to his feet immediately, mainly because he needs to get some distance between them. Courfeyrac gives him a questioning look and Combeferre just shakes his head. "I'll—be back in a second."

He shuts himself in the nearest bathroom, just so that nobody can see the way he runs his hands through his hair and glares at his reflection. This is stupid, he's being _stupid_ , he shouldn't be completely overcome by the fact that Courfeyrac is wearing a _tight shirt_. The only remaining speck of rationality at the back of his mind is horrified at himself. This is Courfeyrac, of all people. Combeferre can deal—if only just barely—with the fact that sometimes he lies awake thinking about Courfeyrac. The way his palms are sweating and his heart is pounding, however, is entirely new and unwelcome. 

There's a knock on the door and thankfully, Enjolras' voice calling, "Combeferre? Are you alright?"

Running a hand through his hair, Combeferre goes to the door and opens it. Enjolras is frowning and Combeferre sighs, rubbing a hand over his face as he goes back to the giant entertainment room. The TV has been turned off and the couch has been pushed aside, the cleared space serving as a dancefloor as Feuilly picks out songs. Courfeyrac is already there, encouraging Marius to dance with Cosette while he picks Gavroche up and spins him in a circle. 

Combeferre doesn't even realise he's staring until Enjolras clears his throat quietly and asks again, "Are you alright, Combeferre? You've been acting strangely all night."

Combeferre sighs heavily, and decides to go with the truth. He turns to Enjolras and holds him by the shoulders, leading him to a corner of the room. With the music so loud, he doesn't even need to lower his voice.

"Do you find Courfeyrac attractive?"

" _What_?" Enjolras asks, raising an eyebrow. He glances in Courfeyrac's direction before Combeferre can stop him but thankfully, Courfeyrac doesn't notice. "I… suppose so? In an objective manner. I've never really thought of it before."

"Oh." Combeferre does not look over at Courfeyrac, he _does not_. "But you don't… suddenly feel the urge to walk over and kiss him, do you?"

"No," says Enjolras, alarmed. He glances in Grantaire's direction before he quickly turns back to Combeferre. "Um. But you do?"

"I do," Combeferre admits, to Enjolras, to himself. "Holy shit, Enjolras, I want Courfeyrac. What do I do?"

Enjolras shifts uncomfortably. "I'm not the best person to ask—"

"Courfeyrac!"

Enjolras goes very still at the sound of Grantaire's voice, and they both look over. Grantaire is walking over to Courfeyrac with a bottle held loosely in his hand. He leans over to whisper something in Courfeyrac's ear, and Courfeyrac's wicked grin starts a flurry of butterflies in Combeferre's stomach.

"What," Enjolras mutters, to himself, and then repeats it louder when Grantaire wraps his arms around Courfeyrac's waist. " _What_?"

Grantaire must hear him, because he grins and presses a kiss to Courfeyrac's cheek. Suddenly, all of Combeferre's amusement at Enjolras' jealousy vanishes. He remains standing where he is, but Enjolras walks towards them, taking Grantaire by the wrist and pulling him aside. Everyone on the dancefloor stops and watches, and Combeferre realises that Feuilly's turned the music down.

Combeferre cannot follow the whispered conversation that follows, but then Enjolras is kissing Grantaire and the entire room has erupted with cheering. Combeferre's so relieved that they've finally gotten around to it that he very nearly joins in, but then Courfeyrac is walking towards him.

"You can stop glaring daggers at Grantaire now," Courfeyrac murmurs, grinning. "Pretty sure he's spoken for."

"He kissed you—"

"Is that a problem?" Courfeyrac's tone is light, but there's a look in his eyes that says this is a serious question. It's all or nothing now and hell, Combeferre thinks. If he can be honest with himself and honest with Enjolras, then he's going to be honest with Courfeyrac too.

"I'd rather it be me," he tells Courfeyrac. "Kissing you."

Enjolras is still kissing Grantaire; they're making a bigger scene than Marius and Cosette did when they first got together. Combeferre has all of one second's worth of attention to spare in their direction before Courfeyrac gets on his tip-toes and whispers into Combeferre's ear. "Well, maybe you should fix that."

Combeferre doesn't need to be told twice. He pulls Courfeyrac close, and Courfeyrac meets him halfway, lips curved into a smile as they're pressed against Combeferre's. They kiss harder and Courfeyrac is pressing himself closer, letting out a quiet gasp as their tongues slide against each other. Combeferre's grip on him tightens, not even realising that he's tangled his fingers in Courfeyrac's hair and started tugging gently until Courfeyrac moans softly.

They need to get out of here. Combeferre wonders if his friends would forgive him for bailing on his own party, but when he finally pulls away from Courfeyrac, he realises that they're all staring. 

Enjolras and Grantaire are nowhere to be seen and in their absence, everybody else has noticed Combeferre and Courfeyrac in the corner. He stands there awkwardly, his hands still resting on Courfeyrac's waist, not quite knowing what to say.

Bahorel beats him to it. "Whoa. All four of you finally got your shit together in the one night? It's a fucking miracle."

Courfeyrac laughs the loudest at that, and takes Combeferre by the hand. "I think you've got R to thank for that. Now, if you don't mind, I'm stealing 'Ferre."

"Use condoms!" Joly yells after them as they leave, and by the time they get outside, Combeferre's cheeks are burning.

Courfeyrac laughs at him, kissing him again. "You're ridiculously cute, do you know that?"

"Me?" Combeferre mumbles, "Pretty sure that's you."

"We really need to get back to your place," Courfeyrac decides. "Because the things I want to do to you…"

"Yeah." Combeferre takes him by the hand. "We're going."

They hold hands the entire train ride to Combeferre's house. Combeferre works on unlocking the door while Courfeyrac clings to him, kissing and sucking on his neck. He's going to leave a mark behind and Combeferre doesn't even care, he just wants them inside and in his bed as soon as possible.

They pause when they shut the door behind them, because the lights are all off, but they can hear very distinct sounds coming from Enjolras' room.

"Fuck, I thought they would have gone to Grantaire's place," Courfeyrac mutters. "I guess we could—"

Combeferre lifts Courfeyrac up, carrying him to his own bedroom and putting him down on the bed.

"Or this," Courfeyrac breathes, as Combeferre shuts the door and gets on the bed, kneeling over him. "We could do this."

The sound of Enjolras and Grantaire in the next room fade to the back of Combeferre's mind as he focuses on Courfeyrac instead, kissing him and undoing his bowtie at the same time. He pulls back when he unbuttons Courfeyrac's shirt, though, watching as each undone button exposes more skin, until he's pushing the shirt aside and kissing down Courfeyrac's chest instead. 

"'Ferre, please," Courfeyrac gasps, wrapping his legs around Combeferre's waist. They're both hard and as much as Combeferre wants to hear every variation of every gasp as he sucks on Courfeyrac's nipples, he'll make time for that later. Right now, he focuses on getting them both out of their clothes, until they're both naked, lying on their sides and facing each other.

They've shared beds countless times before, and it drives Combeferre mad to know that they could have been doing _this_ back then, too. He rolls onto his back, pulling Courfeyrac on top of him, legs on either side of him. Courfeyrac smiles down at him, rocking his hips gently and they both groan at the friction. Combeferre wraps his fingers around both of them and Courfeyrac sighs something that sounds like his name. They rock against each other and Courfeyrac doesn't stop talking, of _course_ he doesn't, his voice broken and breathless.

"I want you in me, 'Ferre, not right now but—when we have the time and patience, want to stretch myself open for you, w-want to ride you— _oh, fuck yeah_ —want to see if I could make you scream, I bet I could. I'd be so loud for you—you'd have to shut me up, fill my mouth up with your fingers, with your cock— _fuck_ , I want that, want you. Wanted you so bad, for so long."

"Courf," Combeferre pants, throwing his head back against his pillow and stroking them both faster. "Courf, _Courf_."

They both come with loud moans and Courfeyrac collapses onto the bed beside Combeferre with the most blissful smile Combeferre has ever seen. Combeferre kisses him, grabbing a clean towel from his closet and wiping them both clean before they settle on the bed more comfortably. 

Courfeyrac rests his head on Combeferre's chest and snorts quietly with amusement. "I can't believe Grantaire's plan worked."

"Grantaire?" Combeferre asks, raising an eyebrow.

"The tight shirt," Courfeyrac clarifies. "He was pretty sure you'd like that. And then he got to make Enjolras jealous, which worked out nicely for him. He's a genius."

"He is," Combeferre mutters, and then pauses. "Wait, so you knew—"

"That you couldn't keep your eyes off me?" Courfeyrac sounds ridiculously pleased. "Oh, yeah. Trust me, I didn't mind at all."

"You have more shirts like that, don't you?" Combeferre asks, feigning nonchalance. 

Courfeyrac laughs, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. "I'll wear them just for you."

Combeferre hums happily, pulling the blankets over them and wrapping his arm around Courfeyrac.

 

He's woken the next day to the unmistakable sound of a party horn. He sits up in bed and Courfeyrac is gone. Scrambling to his feet, Combeferre pulls his clothes on and opens the door of his room.

Courfeyrac's in the kitchen, the offending party horn held between his lips. Grantaire is drumming on the countertop with his palms, grinning at Enjolras, who looks mightily unimpressed.

"What." It's too early, and Combeferre is too under-caffeinated for this. Judging by Enjolras' expression, he agrees.

"It's a Got-Laid Parade," Enjolras informs him. "Or so I was told. Apparently it involves being obnoxiously loud and cheerful and very little _parading_."

"We can fix that!" Courfeyrac announces, and looks at Grantaire. "To the Musain?"

"The Musain!" Grantaire echoes, abandoning the kitchen counter in favour of clapping out a beat. Courfeyrac leads the way out and Combeferre sighs heavily, looking at Enjolras.

"We should go after them."

Enjolras' sigh matches his. "We should."

"This is going to be our lives from now on, isn't it?"

Enjolras smiles slightly. "I suppose so."

As Combeferre grabs his keys and phone, struggling to get his hair to stay down as he hurries out of the door and after Courfeyrac, he finds that he can't stop smiling either.


End file.
